


Want To Be Friends?

by ViolaTricolour



Series: The Sparrow and the Song [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, arriving at the circle, before everything goes downhill, this is really just an excuse for them to be cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 16:29:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7539781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolaTricolour/pseuds/ViolaTricolour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nimia Surana has just arrived at the Circle of Magi, and makes a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want To Be Friends?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm probably the only one who still has this many emotions over Jowan & the mage Warden. There's a lot of pain that comes later, so here have some cute.

She’s doesn’t know how many days she’s been travelling from the place she comes from  ( _Amaranthine_ ,  the shiny man calls it)  to the place she is now  ( _the  Circle  of  Magi,  Kinloch  Hold_ )  but she knows it wasn’t enough.  No amount of time could have prepared her to be standing in the middle of a group of too-tall people, each of them talking about her as if she isn’t standing right there.

“Chantry sisters say she’s five years old.  Her parents –” She doesn’t listen to the rest of that sentence; she knows her parents left her on the Chantry doorstep when she was born, knows they are long gone.  She’s more interested in the flash of movement from the corridor.  She furrows her brows,  clutches her little sack of belongings  –  _a  silver  Chantry  amulet,  a  couple  spare  sets  of  clothes,  nothing  else_   –  as she studies the door way.  And then she sees him – a human boy with dark hair peeking around the corner and quickly withdrawing once more.

“Nimia.”  The elf starts, looking up at the sound of her name, but they still discuss her as if she isn’t present.  The shiny man speaks to an older, _shinier_ man, and a man that wears robes and carries a staff on his back.  This man holds some sort of file in his hands.  “Only name she’s got.” 

“First name:  Nimia.  Last name:  Surana.”  The man with the robes says, writing something down in the file.  _Surana._   It sounds weird.

“Surana.” The name is but a whisper as she tries it on her tongue; again, it’s just weird, the syllables heavy on her tongue.  But the soft little voice seems to grab the attention of the shiny man who brought her here and he crouches down with a bright smile. 

“That’s right.  That’s _you_.  The mages here are your family, now.” 

Wide blue eyes, too big for her ashen face, flicker between the men standing around her.  “I’m tired,” she says quietly.  It’s not true; she’s _scared_ , shaking like a leaf as she stands there and _that boy keeps peeking_ _at her_.  Everything has happened so quickly, she can’t quite wrap her head around it, and she’s just waiting for this boy to throw something at her or call her some sort of name.  That’s what they do, right?  It’s what they did in Amaranthine, the human boys and girls _both_.  She just wants to be alone.

The man in the robes calls for someone else – a woman this time, still human, wearing robes in a different color, but with kind eyes and a gentle smile, that goes by the name of _Wynne_.  She offers her hand and Nimia takes it hesitantly, following as she leads her through the corridor into the tower (the boy has scurried off, it seems) and into a room with rows and rows of bunk beds.  She’s talking, but Nimia isn’t paying attention – she’s too busy trying to take it all in.  There are no windows here, not like in the Chantry, and yet it’s still bright.  She cannot see the lake, and the air is not permeated with the scent of the ocean; it makes her miss home so much she feels as if she could cry. 

She doesn’t cry, though.  At least, not until she’s shown to which bunk is to be hers and Wynne has left her to get herself settled.  The little elf crawls up into her bed, curling in on herself, digging out the Chantry amulet and holding it – and her knees – to her chest as she sobs.  _Maker, please, I want to go home_ , she quietly prays, forehead resting on her knees.  _I don’t understand why I’m here.  It was an accident, I said I was sorry –_

“Hi.”  She opens a single red-rimmed eye, peering at the source of the voice – the boy that’d been peeking at her earlier.  Nimia leans away from him, watching him warily as he moves closer.  “Are you crying?” 

 “No,” she replies stubbornly, sitting up and wiping her nose, still sniffling.

 “You just showed up, right?  I’m Jowan.”  He smiles, and it’s warm and bright, and she cannot help but offer a weak, watery smile back. 

“I’m Nimia.”

“Want to be friends?” 

She grins at that, and her heart no longer hangs so heavily in her chest.  “Yeah.”


End file.
